


If Only, If Only

by Dr_D_Fox



Series: And the Veil Divides [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dread Wolf, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hate the Egg, Love the Egg, Multi, So much angst, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_D_Fox/pseuds/Dr_D_Fox
Summary: Companion piece to "And the Veil Divides." Solas does not know what to make of this human mage. She is a means to an end, but her energy and spirit are so different from what he's come to expect. She is a curiosity.





	1. What Dreamers Remain

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a companion piece to “And the Veil Divides,” so reading it by itself will likely be lackluster and confusing.  
> Before reading this, please go onto youtube and look up “If Only” by Fiction Plane (you might recognize it from the movie Holes). I’m cheesy, and I get inspiration from cheesy places, but I was surprised at how well most of the song fits Solas’ story.  
> Each chapter here will, for the most part, correlate with a few chapters in Veil Divides, for those that want to read them together. These generally won’t be very long chapters, and they will likely be a bit choppy since they are only dealing with the interactions between Solas and the Inquisitor from his point of view. This is not a stand-alone piece, but rather some added fluff and insight into our favorite egg’s interpretation. With that, I hope you enjoy!  
> Warning: Spoilers from end of DA:I and Trespasser(ish), and even from “And the Veil Divides.”

(Prologue to “Let Chaos be Undone”)

 

Solas felt the draw of the Orb long before he’d found the source. A year was not long enough to control its energies from this distance, but at least he could track the magic. Human interference meant little to him, so he followed the power as it wend its way through the land and he learned what he could of the people that lived here now.  What he wasn’t expecting was for someone to actually try to use it, and more so, almost succeed. When the Breach appeared, he felt the same fear as everyone else, though perhaps more deeply because he knew what this would mean. So he rushed to the aid of those trying to close it, and struggled to remember what had been long forgotten.

When the guards dragged the girl to Haven’s prison cells, he paid little mind- until he saw the spark of brilliant green in her hand. The Anchor! _His_ anchor! What was this _child_ doing with _his_ magic? The chaos of everything let him blend more easily into the soldiers, and no one really questioned him when he said he knew about the Fade and needed to study the Mark. They just handed him a key to the cells and told him to speak with the Healer.

The Healer was already struggling with the wounds of the body, he had no time or knowledge to help with the drain the Mark was putting on the frail body it had embedded in. Solas went to work swiftly, knowing that his power was not enough yet to pull it from her body, so he had to stabilize it. Between the two of them, it took them two days to finally bring her back to the land of the living. The Mark’s influence spread, and Solas wondered if _she_ were to die, if the Anchor would die as well. That was a disturbing thought.

When the Healer left on the second evening, Solas volunteered to stay and watch her through the night. Too tired to object, the man simply nodded, and reminded him to get the guards if she was going to wake.

The elf took the time, now that he was alone with her, to truly examine the woman who held a part of his power. She was young, though perhaps not as young as he’d first thought. Humans were so short lived that they all seemed to be children to him, until they died of old age.  Shoulder length, auburn hair framed her pale, sleeping face. Across one eye and cheek was a blue-woad twisting tattoo, like some human modified Vallaslin. When he really looked at it, he actually found himself checking her ears for a slight point or scarring- anything to indicate that she was not the human everyone assumed. Particularly since her face had almost elvhen features- like the higher cheekbone and the narrow chin. But her ears were within normal human range, and Solas was surprised to feel a tinge of disappointment. If his magic had at least been in an elf, she might have had more use to him. But then again, elves of this ‘modern’ era were so twisted and closed… perhaps it was better this way. Her clothes were once of fine quality, though now it appeared they had been worn long past their normal time and repaired in a dozen or more places. Her feet were wrapped, elvhen style, for harsh terrain and winter cold- yet another strange discrepancy. Even the broken staff they said she’d come through with was very similar to the one he carried. She must have been one of the apostate mages, perhaps come to the Conclave with the others?

Finding few other answers from her prone form, he perched on the other end of the sleeping mat, and settled against the wall. The Fade was just beyond the Veil, and with the Breach, it was easier than ever for him to cross over.

Haven was not a terribly interesting place to wander the Fade. There was a lot of recent history here, yes, but nothing old enough for him to be curious about. He had expected to have to really search, perhaps even employ one of the lingering spirits help, in order to find the girl, so he was completely surprised to find himself, not in the memories of Haven, but in a cabin at the foot of the mountains. There was the woman, smiling and laughing at the antics of a faceless friend. The world shifted and changed little, sometimes the walls were wood with simple windows, sometimes they were stone with painted glass; but through it all, this faceless friend made her laugh. Wisps of joy and playfulness danced around the scene, though he did not think the Dreamer could see them. And flickering uncertainly in one corner was Longing, wishing to enter this dream, but perhaps still too scared to be close to the Breach.

Mortal dreamers were often hazy and indistinct in their little bubbles of Fade. They were only touching the Veil, never truly coming through. Mages dreamed deeper, which is how they were so easily tempted by spirits, but even they could not form such clear places. He wondered if it was perhaps the Anchor guiding her, but with how comfortably she moved through this world… What a curiosity. However, there was little time to dwell on this. He needed information about how she obtained the anchor, and that meant taking over here.

He let his Will flow freely, and he concentrated on the Conclave, using his mind to try to overpower hers. The Dream wavered, rippling like a rock thrown into a pond, before changing, shifting, _burning_. Where there had been order and clarity, there was only warped screams and the smell of sulfur. The woman looked around, confused, panicked, but unable to take back her Dream as her own mind filled in the blanks. There was the path leading to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A mob of nervous figures surrounded them. No, this was too early. He needed her to move forward. There was the door to the Temple, with Templars milling around. The girl visibly cringed away from them and their hidden faces hissed like demons as they passed. Still not the right time. He _shoved_ the memory forward and they stumbled into- nothing. There was only emptiness here, and both Dreamer and observer were confused. He could see the memory he’d just left behind them, and he could see the vague forms the mind creates while sleeping ahead, but in between… There were whispers. Fear. Terror. A figure of Hope. And then nothing. The edges around this memory were ragged and little pieces- half formed thoughts and unspoken conversations- floated around them. This was not normal, not simply amnesia or forgetfulness. This memory had been ripped from her mind _forcefully_ , by something _from the Fade._

He gave up control of her Dream, and slowly it started to flicker back to what it was before, but the fear and tension had not left her mind yet, and it wavered and shifted, until a Dream started to form a Nightmare. The stench of death and fire filled the air, and the distant screams of the past started to shriek towards them. Somewhere in the Fade, close, he could hear a Demon of Terror laugh and begin its hunt. Quelling his own fear, he let his presence be known to her in the dream. She whipped around at his appearance, fire flickering into life along her hands, “Who’s there?!” She shouted, her light accent accentuating her emotions. Shaking his head, he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the wrist, “There is no time. Terror stalks you now. It is time to _Wake up!_ ”

He jolted awake, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. Solas turned to look at the prisoner, surprised that she wasn’t awake, but when a soft grown left her lips, he knew she would be soon. At least they were both out of the Dream. Standing quickly, he signaled the guards. “She will be awake soon. I suggest letting the Seeker know. Tell her that I will meet them at the forward camp. There is no time to waste.” The guards nodded and moved past him into the cell to pull the girl out and have her ready.

Solas let his feet carry him along the well memorized path, up the winding mountain trail, towards the Breach. Nothing he had tried had worked on the tear in the Veil, nor even the smaller Rifts that had formed around it. But this girl… She already showed great control over her magic and the Fade. Perhaps she could be shown how to use the Anchor to close… Well, one step at a time. For now, he would let the Seeker deal with her. He needed to find a Rift that the girl could be used on. And then… He would watch her. She was not the thief, he knew that, but perhaps the one who stole his magic would seek her out.


	2. Rifts in the Veil

(From the chapters “Let Chaos be Undone” and “Their Salvation and Mine”)

He grit his teeth and struck out at the beasts head, letting fire ripple along the length of the staff and explode outward into the demon. The creature screamed and he hoped that one more blast of energy might send it back to the Fade- but before he could deliver, he felt his barrier shudder and a screech from behind interrupted his magic. He whirled and struck, knocking the shade back a few paces- enough to let him leap out of the way. Two bolts ‘thunked’ into the second demon, turning its attention away from Solas. He had little time to thank the Durgen’len responsible, but was grateful none the less.

It was difficult for him to remember his current limitations, and when he’d come up to this Rift, the closest one to Haven, he’d hoped to be able to study it again. Instead, demons poured out and he’d spent his whole time battling them.

He lifted his staff again, ready to call down a bolt of lightning, when a fireball whizzed past his ear and blasted the demon before him into the Void. Two more followed in quick succession, and he felt a barrier ripple over him and reinforce his own. Confused, he spared a moment to look where the magic had come from- and saw the girl. She was scuffed and bruised, having obviously seen some battle between the prison in Haven and his little Rift, but her confidence was unmistakable and her technique with magic was familiar. This was not the time however, and as soon as he saw the last demon shimmer back into the Fade, he grabbed her wrist, “Quickly, before more come through!” and shoved her hand up towards the Rift.

He’d expected to have to forcefully pull her Willpower upwards and help focus it through the Anchor, but as he laid out the path their magic would follow, he felt her own surge up after it and blast through the Mark with remarkable power. A cord of energy shot out, pulling a little of his own magic along with it, and the Rift snapped closed with a blinding flash. She pulled her hand out of his and rubbed the place where bruises were sure to form. Even in her confusion, though, he could feel her aura of magic pulse and shiver, rebalancing and conforming to the magic of the Mark. Her bright eyes studied him with intelligence, meaning there was a brain behind that brute force.

He had to admit- he was impressed.

*

When he’d first seen her in the prison, he’d wondered if she was a maleficent, one of the ones twisting his magic for their own purposes. The Dream he’d observed had quickly dashed that away, and while he was interested in her ability to cross the Fade so readily, he thought that she was simply a bystander, caught in a complicated game. After watching her battle the demons, one after the other, and snap the Rifts closed _without_ his help, he now had to rethink his initial assessments. This was no silly human, trapped between him and his goals, but a force of nature. Perhaps, with some training, her natural abilities with magic and Fade manipulation could be honed into a fine edged weapon.

Well, in another lifetime, perhaps. Still, it seemed wasteful…

Another Rift closed, and he could not help but voice his blooming opinion of her, if only to see what she did in reaction, “You are becoming proficient at this.” After wiping off some ichor that had splashed onto her face, she turned to look at him, and despite all the death and fear they had so far encountered, she smiled. How… unexpected.

While she had meekly let Cassandra lead her much of the way, it seemed that the Chancellor ruffled her feathers, and her sparring words with him amused Solas. He had met the man only once, and had been so annoyed by his puffed up ego and peacock plumage, that the mage had simply walked away, letting the Seeker make excuses for his behavior. So to see him sputter and snarl at the equally venomous face of this young mage, it took a lot to keep from laughing in a rather inappropriate situation. Oh, how she reminded him of his youth! The confidence in her abilities, the unwillingness to allow ‘authority’ to step over her or cast her aside; it was satisfying, and painful. He knew the outcome of his youthful folly, and he knew the likely consequences of hers.

There was no small amount of difficulty in explaining the Breach to his temporary companions, without revealing too much of his own knowledge. They were completely ignorant of the Fade, to the point where he was surprised the humans weren’t simply cowering in caves, gibbering at the sight of their torn sky. But even he was surprised, when they finally reached the Breach, of the echo of memories so recently laid down. Ah… So the mage had stumbled into a ritual- a simple bystander indeed. The man with the glowing eyes was the one wielding Solas’ power, and the Divine had been a sacrifice. Blood magic. That didn’t explain what went wrong, though, and he watched the girl struggle to recall memories that he knew were simply _not there._

They could only wait for so long, and at his advice, the girl threw her hand and power towards the Rift, ripping it open so that they could collapse it. Before she could do so, however, there was thunder without sound, and the earth shook. Behind them materialized a demon. No, not any demon. Pride. The irony wasn’t lost to him, but more so, it spoke of the person who had torn open the Breach to begin with. Their pride had been  great to call forth a demon of the same name. It was a monstrous thing, larger than most he’d seen in the Fade. Perhaps it had been feeding on all of the emotions of Conclave…

This was no battle against a few Wraiths or Shadows. This was _Pride_ they were fighting, and Solas cursed his weakened state. The beast was vicious and deflected their attacks, while knocking down their fighters with easy. It was toying with them, withholding the killing blow just so it could brush them aside again and again.

He barely heard Cassandra over the battle, “We must strip its defenses! Wear it down!” But _how_? His magic dispels did little against it, and even his best offensive spells seemed to simply bounce off its armored hide. He noticed the girl running towards the Rift, and almost laughed. She could not _close_ this Rift while Pride held it open! But she wasn’t closing it- she was disrupting it! The Rift shuddered and seemed to freeze, and Pride stumbled to a halt, his power momentarily stripped!

‘ _Ingenious! She interrupted the power exchange between the demon and the Rift! He is vulnerable!’_

He found himself fighting side by side with her, and it was obvious that she was an experienced fighter. Her style shifted to match his, and they worked in tandem to batter the weakened demon with everything they could.  Lesser shades and wraiths poured out to protect their king, but the mages continued on Pride while the mundane soldiers picked off the smaller demons. Solas found himself enjoying the battle, dancing with the younger mage to see how they could combine their powers against the beast.

He was actually disappointed when it fell, disappearing back into the Void from which it came.

“Now, seal the Rift!” came Cassandra’s shout, and Solas had to step back from the sheer power that rippled out of the other mage as she battled to close it. He could feel and _see_ the Rift fighting her, but she scowled and growled at it, stepping forward and pushing back with her Willpower until it snapped shut. Sweat and blood soaked her tunic, but she stood tall, in glaring defiance of his expectations.

She turned and grinned at him, and he opened his mouth to congratulate her over the cheering of the soldiers, when she collapsed.

*

Healing her the second time took longer, for her body was bruised and weak already, but she had drained her mana almost to the point of no return. The Healer had wanted to pour lyrium down her throat, but Solas pushed the potion away, snarling that the sudden influx of it in her system would kill her. These damned humans were obsessed with lyrium, and while it had its uses, healing was _not_ one of them. It wasn’t until the man had confirmed it with Cullen that he’d finally given up and allowed Solas to do as he would to heal their Herald.

The _Herald of Andreste_. What a ridiculous coping mechanism these humans had. The woman was powerful, he’d give her that, and she wielded magic like the elvhen of old- but she was no divine… _god-send_ , just a girl, in the wrong place, at the right time. There was no divine providence, just bad luck.

So he stayed by her side again, and helped her body heal from the outside, while her mana slowly built back up and began to help heal the inside. There were wisps of Health and Comfort that he could call, and those not chased too far by the Breach were happy to come- but no larger spirits would answer his requests. It was still too dangerous for them. So it was with his own magic and knowledge that he worked, struggling to recall what he’d used in the long past, and grousing to himself about the poor ingredients the potion master had available.

He studied the Mark, too, interested to see that it was quiet and stable now. The Breach was not sealed, though he’d had little hope of that, but at least the Fade was held in place again and the Rifts would not keep appearing everywhere. Everything would calm down a little, and he could spend more time searching for his magic and the one who stole it.

The first night, so shortly after the battle with Pride, Solas hadn’t slept at all. He struggled with the other man to stabilize her body and spirit. The second night found him too exhausted to even wander the Fade himself. He simply slept, draped over the chair beside her bed, dreaming simple dreams. When by the late morning of the third day, the girl still had not woken on her own, Solas entered the Fade and searched for her. They might have healed her body, but if her mind had been broken… But no, there she was, dreaming softly of comfort and home and family. He did not disturb this dream, wishing to observe her in this relaxed state, but she sensed him none the less. The Fade rippled around her and walls began to form to keep him out. He chuckled, pleased at how protective she was.

Her form whirled and searched for him in the mist beyond her Dream, “Who is there? Show yourself!”

He stepped forward, his sphere of influence overlapping hers and showing him as the shadow of a wolf, waiting just beyond the windows. “Felin,” he whispered in a soft growl, “It is time to _Wake up!_ ”

*

AN: Just a reminder, these are little fluff chapters, so most of it will just be a bit of overview on events. However, some scenes will be repeated, and of course there will be scenes not included in the main story. Later chapters have more dialogue and direct interactions, don’t worry. Consider this a slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, these are little fluff chapters, so most of it will just be a bit of overview on events. However, some scenes will be repeated, and of course there will be scenes not included in the main story. Later chapters have more dialogue and direct interactions, don’t worry. Consider this a slow burn. Sort of.
> 
> Translations:  
> Felin- pup, wolf pup


	3. Ma Harel

(From the chapter “Their Salvation and Mine”)

Seeker Cassandra was, once again, arguing with Varric. Normally he paid it little mind, it seemed to be an ongoing ritual between the two of them, but today’s argument caught his interest. It appeared that the little mage had been asked for, by name, by one of the Chantry Mothers in the Hinterlands. That was fairly unremarkable in itself, but he had learned that some of the artifacts that would both help stabilize the Veil in the area, and help him in his future task, were scattered around Fereldan, including, the Hinterlands. Typically, he would simply go himself, but with the war raging in that area it would be incredibly difficult to get to these objects. If he went with _them_ , he would have both protection and a suitable explanation.

Hiding his smile, he approached the duo, giving them a short bow of his head when they paused, “I could not help but overhear- you are going to the Hinterlands?”

The Seeker raised an eyebrow, apparently still not used to Solas’ presence, “I am.”

Varric interrupted, “ _We_ are. And the Herald. Interest you, Chuckles?”

Before Cassandra could restart the argument, he turned his attention to the dwarf, “Very much. I thought perhaps I should come along to ensure that the Mark remains stable. There are Rifts reported in the valley as well, and it would benefit us greatly if I could study them. There might be a predictable pattern to them.”

The warrior paused, obviously surprised, “That is… Actually helpful. Thank you Solas.”

He bowed again, “Of course, Seeker. I am, after all, here to help.”

So, when it was time to leave he followed along when she went to fetch the Herald. It had been the first time he’d seen her up and moving since they’d stabilized the Rift, so he was taken back by the change in her attire. It was obvious that these were her clothes for battle and traveling, whereas the other outfit she’d been in was likely for in camp. Her armor was tight, boiled leather on top over a loose, flowing tunic. She wore leather jerkins, with multiple pouches sewn into the sides. But the strangest were her boots. They were handmade, but Dalish style- like those worn in the northern tribes. He supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised, since she’d had elvhen foot wraps the first time he’d met her, but it was still so odd to see.

She slid her pack onto her shoulders as Cassandra spoke, “It is time to go, Herald.”

The girl gave a pleading sigh, “ _Please_ don’t call me that.” He was a bit surprised. Most humans seemed to enjoy some form of infamy.

The dwarf laughed and asked over his shoulder as he led the way out, “And what would you have us call you? ‘Sparkles’ seems rather impersonal.” Ah, an attempted play on the sparks of Fade magic that shimmered from the Anchor in her hand. This dwarf had a strange need to use nicknames with people that were a little less than clever.

The girl laughed appreciatively, “Wren. Please- just call me Wren.”

An oddly fitting name, though he wondered at the origin. Wren’s were protective of their homes and young. They were intelligent, and while not the most ostentatious in plumage, they had a natural beauty about them. Overlooked and underappreciated, he’d always found their morning song pleasing. An interesting choice.

They made their way to the Hinterlands, with Varric keeping them entertained and in high spirits. Solas took the time to observe his new companions and try to learn more about them. Cassandra was stoic and incredibly duty driven, but seemed to have hidden depths that she was not yet comfortable showing. Varric used his humor to hide something, a deeper caring for the world than he let on, and, if his discussions on his stories were any indication, a deeply troubling past. And Wren… Wren was a curiosity. Her emotions sat on her sleeve, but they were only what she was feeling right then. Most people would not have seen past that exterior, but Solas recognized it- and wondered at what she had to hide from the world.

The foothills soon gave way to a wide valley, and after stopping to speak with the scouts, the party moved down towards the Crossroads. When Solas had traveled here, he had managed to avoid any conflicts with the Templars, so he was surprised at the obviously heavy lyrium usage that let them battle so effectively against the two mages in the party. It came as no shock, however, that the Templars attacked them even after the Seeker tried to reason with them.

The elf did find himself trying to stop the mages that they ran into, though he was faster than Wren to recognize that they too were beyond reason. She only gaped in surprise when the rebels attacked and before he really thought about it, his magic flung up a wall of ice for the flames to crash against, keeping her from harm. The look of pain on her face at the apparent betrayal her fellow mages had just done was enough to make even him sympathize. He knew that feeling too well.

The Crossroads, once simply a place where two roads met and a few small houses perched, was now the hub of Inquisition and refugee activity. For a moment, it was easy for him to see a different scene playing out, through it had the same theme. Here was an overturned cart, with the owner long missing from its side. There was a wounded soldier, struggling with a shield brother to make it to the healers before he bled out in the thick mud. People shouted, cried, or stood, blinking numbly at the chaos around him. Yes, this was a scene he was very familiar with.

Wren seemed to be taking the scene in with a sort of familiar resignation. While the fighting between mages and Templars had been renewed after the Conclave, it was not, in any way, new. How often had _she_ seen this very image? His eyes fell on a child, so obviously out of place among the humans here, and he could not help but speak the supplication, “Hopefully, the Inquisition can find a way to help these people.” It felt a little odd to actually mean it, even if it would matter little in the future.

***

It was so strange to see it again- the veil artifacts. Ancient tools that, while they would help deal with the Breach now, would help him in his ultimate goal in the future. Emotions swirled in confusion beneath his outward calm- wonder, anguish, fear, hope. Someday, his power would be full enough again to activate these himself, but for now, he would have to use the Anchor that another held. He turned a little, catching the Herald’s eye and beckoning her over. He shifted over a little so that she could place her hands where his had been hovering over it.

“Do you feel it? The thrum of magic, tendrils of the Veil, twisting into the artifact?” When she nodded, her eyes wide with wonder, he continued, “These, I believe, will strengthen the Veil in this area. Your Mark should activate it, protecting this place from further Rifts opening.” It was fascinating to him how easily lies came to him around the others, but how often he chose simple omission around this mage.

Without further instruction from him, Wren sent a tentative spark of power through the Anchor and into the artifact. The reaction was instant and a ripple of power rolled out of it- the green glow lighting the whole room for a moment before calming to a steady hum, pulsing in the background. Solas could not hold back the small smile entirely as he closed his eyes and listened to ripples in the Veil move outward, “Yes, the Veil is strengthened.” Pleased and reassured, he gave the mage a small nod and a smile of approval “Thank you.”

He was rewarded with a cautious smile in return, and words that caught him off-guard, “I merely listened to the more experienced one, Hahren.”

‘Hahren’? Now, where in Thedas had she learned that? Watching her interact with Varric after, _I must keep a closer eye on this one,_ he mused, feeling stuck somewhere between curiosity and… amusement?

He spent the rest of their time in the valley watching her closely- her interactions with the soldiers, with the refugees, and with the people who lived in this place. She listened to each person as if their problems were of the utmost importance, and was quick to address them when she could. If it was something beyond her abilities, she sought out advise from the rest of the party or at very least offered what comfort she could. Most of what Solas had seen of humans had led him to believe them to be selfish and short sighted creatures. This girl, however, seemed to be determined to prove him wrong.

Their last night out of Haven was fairly quiet, with each of them in their own little world. Feeling that this was an opportunity he should take advantage of, he stepped around the fire and settled himself beside the girl, reaching out to her marked hand. She startled, turning to him with eyes that never seemed to stay the same color. Realizing that most people did not simply touch another without permission, he paused. “May I?” he asked, knowing that he did not need to explain anything else. She gave him a small nod, and he returned his attention to her hand. The Anchor was almost completely in balance with her now, it’s powers and hers melded together in a way that he had only rarely seen. There were blisters and bruises on her hand, likely from the many battles they’d had recently, but he could see the Mark pushing magic into them and softening the pain, mending the flesh, and keeping its host alive and useful. “I am glad to see that the Mark has stopped spreading or giving you pain. It seems that with each Rift you close, you gain more control over its power.” He looked up, searching her eyes. She was so different from the others, in so many ways. Vicious in battle, but gentle with others. Able to control a foreign magic as easily as she controlled her own. Without really know, the thoughts that were at the forefront of his mind slipped out. “You are a… curiosity. Tell me, Herald, what does it feel like?”

They both startled when the Seeker doused the fire, but he wasn’t sure why he felt as embarrassed as Wren appeared to be. The stood awkwardly for a moment before she broke the silence, “It is late, and our esteemed commander has deemed it time for sleep.” She gave him a small bow with a mischievous little smirk on her lips, “Goodnight, Hahren.”

That was twice now, that she had used that title with him, and he did not think she used it without knowing its meaning. It felt… comforting; as if he was not quite so alone. Solas watched her disappear into her tent, standing in thought for a moment by the cooling embers of the fire.

“You know,” Varric’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, “If you keep acting like you care, people might think you’ve gotten sick, Chuckles.”

Solas passed a small glare towards the rogue, who just laughed at him in turn, “Good night, Varric.”

The dwarf waved his hand, returning his attention to the crossbow he was polishing with a chuckle.

Returning to his tent, the elf frowned at what the dwarf said. He cared a great deal, just not particularly about anyone here. However, that did bring up a good point. Wren was an accomplished mage, despite her youth, and he would need her in order to complete his own goals. Why shouldn’t he play the game a little? It would not harm anyone at present and had the side benefit of giving him a traveling companion who was as interested in knowledge as he was. Who knew how long this quest might take?

He settled down with a plan slowly forming, and let his mind seek out Wren’s from the Fade. He caught the edge of her thoughts, a wish for a bath, and smiled to himself. In the morning, he’d send a messenger ahead to Haven.


	4. Among her Followers

(From the chapter “To Invite the People”)

 

By the time the party returned to the Crossroads, Leliana’s messengers had rounded up the new soldiers and gathered the horses from Master Dennet, all ready to return to Haven. The Seeker and Varric both seemed to be pleased to have company for the return trip, but Wren was obviously a little nervous. Some of those joining them were Templars that Cullen had sent messages to, or who had abandoned the fight in favor of the needs of the Inquisition. He watched as Wren managed to convince the Seeker to keep the Templars up front (“In case of an ambush,” she’d reasoned), while she dropped back to the mundane recruits. Solas wondered at that, and thought that the others might not have noticed, until Varric suggested that they send the Templars ahead into Haven and Cassandra readily agreed. They both were eyeing the younger mage, and relaxed when she smiled. How interesting.

While the other two began to bicker, Solas used the opportunity to enact some of his plan. Keeping his horse near hers, he began to ask Wren a few questions. The first ones were just general things- how old she was when she went to the Circle, where her family lands were, what she thought of the Hinterlands. The young mage seemed surprised at first, answering the questions slowly, or carefully keeping the answers a little evasive. When he continued with such mild discussion, however, she became a little more open and explained herself in larger detail.

During one of their companionable pauses, she pulled up her horse, letting the soldiers file past her. Guessing at her intentions, he slowed his own mount down to wait for her, keeping a gentle pace until she caught up again. He glanced over at her, before returning his gaze to the path, “I assume that your intention was to speak without the distraction of the herd.”

She giggled softly, he assumed at the apt description of the recruits, before finally answering with a nod. “I thought that perhaps you would enjoy a more private conversation, since it seemed you were unwilling to speak plainly around our companions.”

While he had guessed that she wanted to speak alone, he hadn’t expected her to guess at the intentions of his evasive questions. Once again, he had underestimated her. “Ah.”

He turned back to the path and mulled over how to go about this. There were a few things he had been trying to learn with his circumspect questioning, but there was one, granted unimportant, question that kept circling his mind. “I am curious about you, Lady Trevelyan.” She startled a little and turned to look at him. “A noble by birth, a mage by power, an apostate by circumstance, and a herald by Fate. In all those things, I cannot understand where you would learn to speak elvhen, or come to have a tattoo that so represents the Vallaslin.” Solas could not help but glance at the twisting design on the side of her face, its color a little less stark now that she had spent so much time in the sun. “The boots, the way you use your magic, even some of the quirks you express. They all suggest a… _Dalish_ association.” He tried to keep the condescension out of his voice, but it was a little difficult to do.

She paused only for a short time, shifting in the saddle in what he gathered was discomfort at some part of the question. “I grew up in the Circle, taken there nearly twenty years ago while I was still young and easily molded.” He wondered at how old that actually made her. As far as he knew, no one had asked. It was a strange thing to wonder, given that these creatures lived such short lives. He filed the question away for later and returned his full attention to her explanation. “At the time, I had been ripped from everything I knew, and thrown into the unfamiliar, told only that it was for my own good.” This was a familiar story with Circle mages, and he wondered that it had taken so long for the rebellions to start. Well, perhaps by brain-washing them young…

Wren seemed to struggle for a moment with the memory, swallowing her thoughts before speaking again with a strained tone. “I was frightened, guilt-ridden, and lonely. I was one of the lucky ones, however. One of the others, older than me by a few years, was also lonely. Enough so, that he reached out to a terrified child, and offered her companionship and the comforts of a family. His name was Thenal Lavellan-“ _Ah_ , thought Solas, recognizing the name as Dalish, s _o it was a companion who brought this knowledge to her._ A small frown pulled at his lips, but he hid it behind a mask of polite interest before she could notice. “-It was pure luck that the Templars who picked him up brought him to the Circle, instead of simply killing him, but he also had that way with people- to blunt for anyone to not trust him.” He noted the tension expressed when she said Templars, and felt more determined than before to find out why.

She paused again, and her hand lifted to brush across her tattoo, before telling him softly about her small circle of friends and their survival during the beginning of the rebellion. The pain in her voice was nearly palpable, and it hung in the air around her like a fog. Though he didn’t know the details, he understood the pain, and waited. Slaughter of those perceived weaker than yourself was something that every race, in every era, did readily. Oh, there were hollow justifications given for it, but it was always the same result. How well he knew that… He watched her now, with a flicker of kinship, as she struggled through the memories hunting her now. War was not simply bloody, it was pitiless. What atrocities had she witnessed? What horrors had been visited upon her body and mind? Perhaps that was part of what made her such a strong Dreamer- the desperate need to escape her reality, if only in her mind. Even elvhen had been driven mad by such things…

Finally, she took a steadying breath and turned one of her small smiles to him with a hint of apology. “I do not mean any insult by my use of your heritage.” He had to hold back a snort of contempt at that, but she did not seem to notice. “It became so much a part of my life, that I was happy to have someone to share it with again.”

Feeling a pang of guilt, his hand reached out without him noticing, stopping her before she could spur her mount forward. “I am not insulted, Da’len, just surprised.” Solas offered her a small smile, though he did not mean for the next words to be anything but in his own mind. “You are a curiosity.”

When she laughed softly, looking up at him through her lashes, he felt a flutter of warmth, “You said that before, Hahren. Is that good?”

Spurring his horse forward a bit before the rear-guard caught up to them, he found that the question was one echoing in his own mind, but the answer was already on his tongue. “Mm. I suppose it is.”

* * *

Haven was already roiling with activity when they arrived, and Solas had little trouble slipping away to his cabin while everyone else sorted through the chaos. The amulet that Dalish child had (unwillingly) given him was now cold to the touch, its power spent during the ride here, but he felt the need to stash it away for study later. He had his account of the last few days to write down for the spymaster, and some notes of his own to make.

His body went through the motions automatically, not needing much of his attention while he unpacked his things and changed out of his soiled armor. Deft fingers repaired holes in it, and his mind wandered. He had learned much while in the Hinterlands. Not only did many of his people’s Veil artifacts remain, they were still capable of holding the Veil in place, as they were meant to. Reactivating them now would make his job in the future easier. Varric and Seeker Cassandra were mildly interesting people, though of little consequence to him. Even this Inquisition, at least on the path it currently ran, would be no challenge to him.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. One of the runners had been sent to bring him to Leliana with his written report. Sighing and looking longingly to his books, he set aside his armor and followed along. The next hour was spent with the other companions, carefully detailing their time in the Hinterlands. The main advantage of this, for him, was that he also was privy to some of the spymaster’s updates for the Seeker, as well as a few of Josephine’s informational tidbits. If there was one thing these short lived races did, it was react quickly to absolutely anything. It was something he felt his own people could learn from.

* * *

 “Hahren!”

A familiar voice pulled him out of his musings over the Breach. Wren was trudging through the new snow, smiling brightly at him. He could not help but return it in a smaller degree, and take the opportunity to poke at the younger mage, “The Chosen of Andreste.” The girl groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes, “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re all extinct.” He enjoyed the short, playful banter they had recently begun to share, but he knew also how important image would become for this child.

She seemed to be pleased just to be in his presence, and he had to admit that after spending time with her, he found her companionable as well. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade, in ancient ruins and battlefields, to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten.” Turning his attention back to her, he smirked a little and continued honestly. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Rather than make some grand claim about her future hero status, she seemed instantly interested in a different part of what he’d said. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?”

Solas was surprised- few people, much less such young humans, took interest in the Fade or his journeys. He found himself explaining it automatically, as if to a student. “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of Time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.” It was strange to explain it to someone else, particularly one so young. His knowledge of the Fade and his travels there were a great accomplishment, but could she understand them?

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade- that’s extraordinary!” He could practically feel her eager yearning for knowledge, and he was again surprised by her response.

“Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning.” He could not help the mischievous smirk at his teasing. Fire and lightening were her primary skills in battle, though her spirit and healing magics were also powerful. “The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” That was truth, as raw as at came.

Silence fell between them again, and he turned his eyes back to the Breach. At one point, he had wondered if it would not be better to simply take the Anchor from her and leave the humans to deal with the disaster they had wrought. But now… With this one watching him with such earnest intelligence…“I will stay then.” He spoke his thoughts allowed, “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

Wren seemed surprised, “Was that in doubt?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I am an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces and, unlike you, I do not have a divine Mark protecting me.” That part was true enough, despite the omissions. Yes, he would not die of old age, but that did not mean he could not be fatally wounded. If the Templars decided that any apostate, no matter their assistance in the Breach, was a threat- he would only be slightly more difficult to kill than another mage- at least until he was back at full power. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

“You came here to help, Hahren. I won’t let anyone use that against you.”

He tipped his head, regarding her suddenly serious expression. “How would you stop them?”

“However I have to.”

He did not miss the protective growl under the words, and it took him a moment to accept what she’d said. Truly, she meant it. How… interesting. “Thank you.” He studied her again, finding himself smiling at her with no reason but gratitude. How long had it been since someone had been willing to stand up for him..?  Pushing his mind away from that maudlin path, he straightened up and sought to end the conversation. “For now, let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the Breach.” She was quick to understand the dismissal and gave him a short, informal bow, which he returned in kind before retreating to his cabin. Once inside, Solas leaned against the door and listened to her foot steps crunch through. His chest tightened as his mind replayed the protective stance she’d taken at the suggestion that he would be harmed. There was fire in her depths, more than in most, and it seemed she was more than willing to cast those flames in the protection of others. She was fascinating to him, and he could not help but smile to himself, wondering at what other fires her passion could stoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again about the repeated dialogue, but I felt his view on these situations was important. Honestly, this is probably going to happen fairly frequently- this IS a companion piece, after all, and is the world from his view.  
> Anyways, I have split this chapter up to prevent it from being too long compared to the others. So there should be semi regular updates for a bit.


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